Anthony Blackshaw, 15 Jul '12

        John Giskard perched at the edge of his armchair hunched over the flame from a wooden match. He placed the head of a cigar to his lips and proceeded to light it. Once the glow of the embers were even at the foot he reclined back into his armchair and exhaled.

        He took another draw, this time allowing the smoke to linger in his mouth long enough to fully taste the flavour which was both salty and leathery.

        “Happy retirement” he said out loud and to nobody.

        The only light in the room, aside from his cigar, came from the faintly illuminated top of the low table in front of him. On the table was an ashtray, an empty tulip shaped glass and a black metallic box with a handle moulded in one end. Like the rest of the room each item was positioned neatly in line, nothing out of place.

        The table flashed blue.

        “Ignore all incoming” said Giskard, though he already knew his command would in turn be ignored.
        
        The flashing stopped for a moment, then as he'd predicted the table flashed blue again and the call was put through.
        
        “John?” said a female voice.
        
        Giskard was taken aback, he'd expected to recognise the voice but he was sure he'd never heard this one before.